University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The garden. Cosmo alone.
Cos.
Why, why does nature form us so?—
Nor gird the wretch predestined to endure,
With hoops of steel,—case him in adamant,—
Buckler him some way 'gainst the cruel shafts?—
O, partial Fate! why must the generous heart
So often bleed and agonize,—transpierced
By faithless friendship, or more faithless love?—
Accursed delusion!—Twining round the soul
So gently,—binding golden link on link,—
All the while lulling us with some sweet song,
Till, giddy with enchantment, and fast bound,
She starts,—transforms into a fiend,—
Wrenches the heart-strings, and is gone for aye!
Death! what mock am I?—Is this the spot
Where, but last night, we roved?—Who then so blest—

(Enter Jacquelina, from one of the walks.)
Jacq.
What, Signor, still in sadness?

Cos.
Leave me.

Jacq.
O, speak not thus. Call up
Your noble resolution: minds heroic
Wrestle with fate itself, and spurn at trifles.
Nay, nay, my lord,—

Cos.
Is it no more?—to lose
The star that ruled and cheered my mental heaven,
And reft of which, I'm left upon life's sea
Benighted and alone.

Jacq.
I meant not so.
It is a trial; and demands of you—

Cos.
I had collected all my hopes around her;
There, there they clung, and, with her, lived or died.
Sweet, scattered blossoms! whirled away for ever!

Jacq.
Such ever was, and will be, fickle woman.

Cos.
Methinks I'm laboring in a fearful trance,—
Appalling images and horrid dangers
Glare in upon me, yet they still seem phantoms.

Jacq.
As when we weep in dreams, yet hope our grief
Will prove a dream. So yours, my lord, will prove.

Cos.
The dark cloud was behind me, and the bow
Bestrid it; all before, was lucid; flowers
Diffused their odors; birds and waters sang
Along my path, that gently seemed to wind
Through shade and sunshine, round enamelled slopes,
Down fairy vales, through opening mountains blue.
Now, like some shipwrecked desolate, I stand—

Jacq.
Why waste your sorrow on a worthless object?—
It would but furnish cruel merriment.—
Cast her away, and place your love, my lord,
On one who knows to prize it.

Cos.
Can she jest
At Cosmo's anguish, who has wept, so oft,
When only fancied ills assailed her? Oft,
Imagination harrowing up my soul
With some sad vision of her death or sufferings,
I 've, waking, found my face all bathed in tears.

Jacq.
Credit me, once for all, my gracious lord,—

Cos.
Truth, sanctitude, and maiden constancy!
Where are ye exiled? Once, ye waved round her
Your crystal arms, and made her footsteps holy.

Jacq.
I could reveal—I know a heart, as true,
As fair,—where every virtue, every grace
Abides, that honors woman.

Cos.
False, I swear.

Jacq.
And more, my lord. When night and silence woo
Even sorrow to repose, this angel breathes
The secret sigh for Cosmo.

Cos.
Peace, and begone!

Jacq.
By blessed Mary's life, 't is true.

Cos.
Thou liest;
Thou 'rt perjured;—trouble me no longer.

Jacq.
If there 's a saint in Paradise, or soul
In Purgatory, bliss for faith, or fire
For lack of 't, 't is a sacred truth. Upon
My life, and soul's salvation, it is true.

Cos.
Who?
Who mourns with hapless Cosmo? for the bond
Of sympathy shall join us!

Jacq.
O, my lord,
How the pure red would paint her cheek with shame
And anger, did she dream her secret breathed
Even to the wind.

Cos.
Being herself
Unable to conceal it, thou 'rt not bound.

Jacq.
No contumely. Remember how disdain
From one beloved has racked thy soul, and learn
Compassion.

Cos.
O, I know not what I say.

Jacq.
Perhaps I err, my lord; but thus to see
What should be life's bright morning overcast,
See her in hopeless misery pine,—I cannot;—
Despite the consequences, should she ever,
Ever suspect, I'll venture to disclose.
(Looking about her and speaking low.)
My lord,—Olivia loves you,—long has loved,—
And with the deepest, tenderest passion.

Cos.
Ha! ha!

Jacq.
(disconcerted.)
Signor,—I thought—
Can he lay claim to sympathy, who scorns
The wretched?

Cos.
She wasting with a secret passion!—
And thou believ'st it?—Why, what barefoot lass,
That follows goats over the breezy mountains,
Hath fresher roses or an eye more buxom?—
No, no, my girl; you must invent once more.

Jacq.
My lord, appearances deceive. I 've seen
A young and beauteous lady on her death-bed,
Nay, in her coffin, dressed for her last sleep,
With such a bloom yet lingering on her cheek
As flushes yonder peaks when day 's departed.

Cos.
And how learn'dst thou this precious secret?

Jacq.
The soul, my lord, is fashioned—like the lyre.
Strike one chord suddenly, and others vibrate.
Your name abruptly mentioned, casual words
Of comment on your deeds, praise from your uncle,
News from the armies, talk of your return,
A word let fall touching your youthful passion,
Suffused her cheek, called to her drooping eye
A momentary lustre, made her pulse
Leap headlong, and her bosom palpitate.
I could not long be blind, for love defies
Concealment, making every glance, and motion,
Silence, and speech a tell-tale—

Cos.
Is this all?

Jacq.
These things, though trivial of themselves, begat
Suspicion. But long months elapsed,
Ere I knew all. She had, you know, a fever.
One night, when all were weary and at rest,
I sitting by her couch, tired and o'erwatched,
Thinking she slept, suffered my lids to close.
Waked by a voice, I found her—never, Signor,
While life endures, will that scene fade from me,—
A dying lamp winked in the hearth, that cast,
And snatched the shadows. Something stood before me
In white. My flesh began to creep. I thought
I saw a spirit. It was my lady risen,
And standing in her night-robe with clasped hands,
Like one in prayer. Her pallid face displayed
Something, methought, surpassing mortal beauty.
She presently turned round, and fixed her large, wild eyes,
Brimming with tears, upon me, fetched a sigh,
As from a riven heart, and cried: “He 's dead!
But hush!—weep not,—I 've bargained for his soul,—
That 's safe in bliss!”—Demanding who was dead,
Scarce yet aware she raved, she answered quick,
Her Cosmo, her beloved; for that his ghost,
All pale and gory, thrice had passed her bed.
With that, her passion breaking loose, my lord,
She poured her lamentation forth in strains
Pathetical beyond the reach of reason.
“Gone, gone, gone to the grave, and never knew
I loved him!”—I 'd no power to speak, or move.—
I sat stone still,—a horror fell upon me.
At last, her little strength ebbed out, she sank,
And lay, as in death's arms, till morning.

Cos.
Hath she at no time spoke of this?

Jacq.
Long after, Signor, she did task me closely,
If in a certain night she had not raved.
By searching questions she drew forth the truth.

Cos.
What said she then?

Jacq.
She charged me never to divulge her shame,
Not as I loved her life, and said the secret
Should go down with her to the tomb. But I
Vowed inly, on that solemn night, if e'er
I saw, to break it to Lord Cosmo.

Cos.
Too harshly judged!—
Poor partner in misfortune!—Sayst thou so?—
While I saw life's bright seasons rolling by,
Enslaved unto the falsest, fairest phantom
That ever took Heaven's semblance to deceive!—
O! I could clasp, and weep upon her neck!

Jacq.
What! sigh and weep?
Yield her that triumph?—Hiss rather!—One bold effort—
Cast her disgraceful shackles off, and wed
A matchless lady whose whole heart is yours.

Cos.
(starting.)
Marry!

Jacq.
Why not?

Cos.
Marry Olivia?

Jacq.
Ay; marry:—show this giddy nymph her error,
Who thinks to hold you still in thraldom. Devils!
Before I 'd be her jest with Barbadeca—

Cos.
O, 't is bitter.

Jacq.
'T is plain the slippery pair exult
In your imagined anguish. Such an act
Would cloud their honey-moon.

Cos.
And that were well,—
That, that were well.

Jacq.
Besides, you gain, my lord,
A gentle, constant friend, whose soft endearments,
In time will woo you back—

Cos.
Leave me alone.—
The thought has struck me.—It would disturb their mirth.
Leave me.— (Exit Jacquelina.)
Marry!—That would sting her home!
Though a loathed reptile has with poison mixed
The springs of her affection,—though she scorns me,—
'T would grieve her pride, were I to wed another.
Beholding me kneeling beside her sister,
She may come to herself, and shake this dream
Of folly off. Her early love may gush,
Like pent-up waters, back into her heart!—
But then—then we are parted—
O, misery!—which way shall I turn?—Are these
The nuptials I have panted for? These, these,
The transports?—Heaven have mercy!—O, Demetria!
How couldst thou bury in oblivion all
Those hallowed hours, so fraught with feeling!—stoop—
But if she be not fallen past belief,
If one last spark of tenderness remain,
I'll rouse it, though the effort cost my life.
I'll watch her as I swear myself away;—
Then, if she falters,—if one gush of tears
Betray her,—I am recompensed for torture.

(Exit.)